


How not to drown

by sprosslee



Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: Depression, Drug Abuse, Emotional support Hans, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overdosing, Suicide, Takes place after Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 14:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20762090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprosslee/pseuds/sprosslee
Summary: What did David do on Sundays before everything went down?On Matteo’s good days, it was probably lying in bed naked, watching some stupid new Netflix show Matteo was currently obessed with, only interrupted by occasionally making out or a little nap.On Matteo’s bad days, basically the same, but with more clothes and naps and less making out.Towards the end, there were a lot of bad days.***After Matteo leaves, David stays at Hans and Linn’s to sort things out.





	How not to drown

# Saturday, 11.21

David wakes up when the pigeon perching on his window sill starts cooing. It’s five thirty, but hey, at least he slept at all, which is an improvement on the last few days, the last few months, when he usually just passed out of sheer exhaustion after lying awake for hours. 

He rolls around in bed and yawns half-heartedly. The sheets need to be changed soon, they smell awfully tangy and he’s pretty sure that that’s a piece of potato chip sticking to his thigh. He runs his hand through his greasy hair. Fuck, he needs a shower. 

Matteo left David’s drawings behind when he left. They’re still on the wall, all of them, all the cringey teenage shit David drew when they got together before Abi, and the watercolour paintings he’s been doing for some time now in preparation for the Universität der Künste. There’s even the coaster David decorated with an elaborate floral pattern when they went to that gay bar for Matteo’s nineteenth birthday. (Has it been more than a year already?) 

Although he tried not to show it, Matteo was too shy to talk to anyone, so they just sat there, drinking sickly sweet cocktails and holding hands so that everyone could see they were together. They even made out when the drinks started to kick in, Matteo’s lips softer than anything else.

_Dude, I like you so much,_ Matteo whispered into his neck, flushed up to his ears, adorably tipsy. David’s stomach was tingling with excitement. It was him who did this to Matteo, him, David Schreiber, humble (future) artist, jock, crazily in love with this boy, with his messy hair and crooked smile, with the pimples on his chin, with his nimble tongue, with the world’s warmest eyes. 

The messy hair got even messier after David moved into Matteo’s flatshare, and everything else basically stayed the same, except that David loved Matteo more and more each day.

And now Matteo’s gone.

Over the years it got harder and harder to cry. David knows it’s the testosterone and all, but sometimes he misses the times he was able to just bawl his eyes out. 

Now would be a perfect opportunity, right?

“David, wake up, Linn made pancakes.” Hans knocks softly at the closed door. 

Although there’s no way Hans can see him through the massive oak door, David wipes his face. 

“They’re chocolate banana with caramel sauce. And fresh raspberries.” Another knock. “They’re vegan but they’re very good! Please come out and help us eat them, we don’t want to get fat!”

“Coming,” David croaks, glad that he’s remembered to lock the door for once, or Hans would already have come in his room. His throat feels like sandpaper. 

Somehow he manages to get out of bed. He grabs one of Matteo’s old grandpa sweaters from the floor and pulls it over his head. Although Matteo’s scent doesn’t linger any longer, it’s like getting a tiny Matteo hug. The thought of touching Matteo again makes David’s eyes sting.

He drags himself to the kitchen.

“Hello sunshine.” Hans pats the empty space next to him. “Sit with me. Linn made ginseng tea.” Without asking whether David wants some or not, Hans offers him his Hello Kitty mug. It’s the one Hans gave him as a present on the first birthday he celebrated with his boyfriend, in his boyfriend’s flatshare, with his boyfriend’s buddies and girlfriends, who miraculously had turned into his buddies and girlfriends by then as well.

_”Now you have your own mug. This is your home too, you know?”_

Somewhere between Friday morning and now, Linn has dyed her hair green. “I think I finally found the perfect recipe.” She turns around to the stove and flips her pancakes, humming this year’s summer hit. _We’ll be together every night, I won’t let go without a fight._

Mia, who started studying German and English to become a teacher, would lecture Linn about the power of good poetry and the importance of using and reading strong words with meaning. Matteo would tell her to shut up and laugh.

But Mia is in Madrid. And Matteo is still gone.

“They won’t taste like gooey cowpats today, I promise,” Hans whispers. “I smuggled two eggs into the batter when she went for a pee.”

“Doing God’s work,” David whispers back, and Hans winks. Bless all the Hanses in the world.

Linn serves her pancakes in a giant stack on an even more giant platter. “Eat them with cashew butter, David. Cashew butter is the shit!”

“Linn, where did you learn this expression? I’m going to whip their bottoms!”

“You can’t make me stop!”

“What happened to my sweet Linn? Those radical vegans are ruining your soul! My poor heart!”

David sits in the midst of their friendly banter about PETA and animal rights, stabs his pancake with his fork and wonders how he’ll ever finish a single one. He doesn’t need to step on the bathroom scale to confirm that he’s lost weight, Hans and Linn’s tender loving care and the fact that they’re constantly trying to make him eat is proof enough. 

Honestly, he doesn’t deserve these two dorks.

“Thanks for letting me stay for so long,” he mumbles. 

Hans puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not _staying_ here, David Schreibner. This is your home. You’re family after all.” 

# Sunday, 14:28

What did David do on Sundays before everything went down?

On Matteo’s good days, it was probably lying in bed naked, watching some stupid new Netflix show Matteo was currently obessed with, only interrupted by occasionally making out or a little nap. 

On Matteo’s bad days, basically the same, but with more clothes and naps and less making out.

Towards the end, there were a lot of bad days. 

David sighs. He really needs to change the sheets and empty the ashtrays. From his place on the floor he spots at least two overflowing ones under an old newspaper on the side table and a third one under the bed. It’s weird how David really tried to – wanted to – believe him when Matteo told him he’d quit smoking, even though it was so obvious he hadn’t really; the smoke stuck to his clothes, to his hair. The nicotine smell on his fingers when they touched was obvious enough.

Matteo always was a good liar and David was always happy to believe. 

It’s hard to get up from the hardwood floor after you’ve spent quite some time lying on your back and staring blankly at the ceiling, right at the spot where a large spider built its web. It’s still there now, all dusty and abandoned. It was the reason they had something vaguely resembling a fight. 

David can’t really remember exactly when it was, probably shortly before everything went down. Since Matteo left, each day is like any other. Grey. Lonely.

“It needs to go,” David repeated, eyeing the intruder. Its legs were awfully long. “We don’t have to kill it. I could just catch it and–” 

Matteo shook his head, more determined about the stupid spider than anything in the last few weeks. “Leave it be. It’s killing the fruit flies. Rentier keeps spiders in his flat as well.”

The thought that Matteo was still going back to that drug-dealing freak made David’s pulse race. He wanted to grab Matteo’s shoulders and shake him, shout at him about finding a decent therapist. Constantly stoned people reading Schopenhauer and stupid self-help books were definitely not qualified to deal with Matteo’s mental health issues. 

Matteo knew it. David knew it. 

“Dude, you know that you wouldn’t have fruit flies if you cleaned more,” David said instead.

“Shut it. You’re not my mom.” 

It was kinda funny for Matteo to come up with that, because Matteo’s mom had just taken too many sleeping pills a week ago, so after years of her mental absence, Matteo was now officially without a mom. When David’s stupid brain finally made the connection, Matteo’s was already finished. He was crumbling to the floor, bawling like a baby, tiny and helpless in David’s arms.

David wipes his face. He would have dragged any other friend to a therapist by then, and if his sister ever needed help, he wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to get it for her.

With Matteo, things are more complicated. He has strong opinions about mental health institutions, which is not surprising because they couldn’t help him or his mom to get to grips with their problems. No way David could have suggested going back to one.

David rolls to the side and stares at the full ashtray under the table. It’s covered in dust, like everything in this room. If he closes his eyes and inhales very deeply, it’s as if Matteo was still here, sitting in his thrifted armchair, blowing blue smoke rings.

Maybe David didn’t say anything back then because he was afraid of losing Matteo. Because Matteo was not doing well, and it was obvious, and they were fighting a lot until Matteo grew too sad to fight any longer, and David blamed himself for it, because he’s David, and being him means bringing trouble to people’s lives if they aren’t careful. 

The point is, he didn’t pay enough attention. He’d also overlooked the point in Matteo’s behaviour where it slipped from manic to depressed _again_ although he’d sworn to himself to pay better attention next time.

But now Matteo is gone. 

So does the reason why David didn’t act even matter any more?

# 

# Monday, 06:00

David forgot to switch off the fucking Darth Vader alarm clock again. 

It goes off at half past five in the morning, the Imperial March blaring through the room, and it takes David a few seconds to even understand where he is and why he’s here, and when he does, he wants to smash the stupid thing with a sledgehammer. 

On Mondays and Saturdays, Matteo always had to get up at this ungodly hour for his part-time job at the Späti. Like every person with a functioning brain, he hated Mondays and Saturdays with a passion. 

“Why can’t you find another job?” David asked when it was too early for anything and still, Matteo was getting ready to sell beer, chocolates and cigarettes.

“Well, you are the one who wants to do another road trip… and I can’t let Herr Vural down, can I?” Matteo always answered. 

Has anyone thought yet about telling Herr Vural that Matteo won’t come by any longer?

The alarm clock is still going off. David stares at the cheap plastic figurine on the night stand until everything gets blurry. Finally, he taps Vader lightly on the head. The blaring stops. 

David wishes everything else would stop that easily. 

# 

# Tuesday, 17:55

When he opens the door, David thinks of telling Hanna that her new bob suits her, but then Hanna is only here because of Matteo. She and David were never particularly close, despite everything they went through. 

“He’s not here,” he says instead.

Hanna blinks. “I know. Can… Can I come in anyway?” Her eyes are red.

How could David send her away? “Yeah, sure.”

He leads her to the kitchen where he pours her some cold green tea from Linn’s pot. Linn won’t miss it; since her vegan health food craze she’s been drinking tea constantly and has so many mismatched pots standing around she can’t possibly keep track of all of them. 

Hanna sits down on the bar stool and holds her mug as if it’s hot and she needs to warm herself. It’s weird because it’s already pretty warm for April. David looks at her, looks over her shoulder, out of the window. Everything is in bloom, perfect picnic weather. They could have gone to the park to sit under the cherry trees, but that idiot had to leave.

“David?”

“Hm?”

Hanna puts a strand of her hair behind her ears. That new haircut really makes her face look slimmer. She is pretty today, especially in that rose sweater. 

“Matteo’s aunt told me to come. She… She wants to get Matteo’s personal things on Tuesday. She says it’s time.”

It’s suddenly five degrees colder in the room. “Can’t she come herself? Also, how rude is that. Just taking his stuff away, just like–” 

“David… I…”

She gesticulates helplessly, stops, looks at the kitchen table, which is still covered in breadcrumbs because David still can’t bring himself to erase the weekly cleaning plan Hans has written down onto the kitchen blackboard in his meticulous handwriting before everything went to shit. _TO DO: Monday - Hans - bathroom. Tuesday - David - kitchen. Wednesday - Matteo - living room. Thursday - Linn - toilet. Friday - day off, have fun. Saturday - flat cleaning party + pasta for lunch (Matteo <3)._

So many items on that list. The only thing David wants to do right now is smash the blackboard into pieces. 

Hanna shifts on her stool. “David… You know he’s not coming back, right? He–”

“Hanna, don’t. I know. I know. I just – I can’t.”

They sit and look at each other. Hanna starts to cry.

# 

# Wednesday, 09:10  


Linn working in the kitchen is one of the most comforting sounds David knows. It’s just so soothing to hear her whistle out of tune and be generally cheerful, just trying to be the best version of herself, making breakfast for her friends, enjoying life. Clearly, all the episodes of Queer Eye she watched paid off for her.

Hans and David are sharing the bathroom. Both of them are crammed in front of the tiny mirror, staring at themselves. Hans is wearing his work suit, David a white undershirt that shows off his pecs, defined upper arms and the tiniest bit of black chest hair. 

Matteo loves him in a wife beater.

“No offense, but how is it possible you’ve got so much body and facial hair and I still look like a twelve-year-old? This is so unfair,” Hans whines. 

“You should try testosterone,” David mutters. “More hair than you need, in places you didn’t even know you could grow it.” He rubs his chin. He needs to get rid of that three-day-stubble if he ever intends to leave this flat again. When he’s growing a beard people are afraid of him, especially old ladies with lap dogs. Must be the dark eyes and skin plus too much facial hair that stir some kind of deeply-buried primal fears.

Hans snorts. “No way. You know I’m afraid of needles. See you later?”

What kind of question is that? Where would David even go? “Later.”

With a pat on David’s arm Hans leaves. “Try to eat something nutritious today. And do at least twenty push-ups, your master demands it.”

David grunts something that can either be interpreted as a yes or a fuck off and tilts his head at his own reflection. His cheekbones seem even more prominent, or maybe it’s the neon lights, but who can really tell under all that hair? He opens the bathroom cabinet. It’s crammed with Linn’s hair products, Hans’ facial creams and a plethora of Mia’s leftover cosmetics. There’s the hairbrush David has searched for for weeks. Where’s the stupid razor? Maybe behind the hair dryer? Why is there so much stuff in this fucking cabinet – 

A small package falls out. 

David automatically bends over to pick it up and almost cracks his head on the bathroom sink. Crouching on the floor, he turns the box around in his hands. He admires the unopened packaging for a moment, smoothing his fingers along the crisp edges. 

Matteo never liked his meds, said they made him dizzy and not _here_. “What kind of life is it when I’m like that?”, he always said. His puppy-dog eyes peeking out from under his long fringe turned David’s heart to butter. “Would you still like me when I vanish completely?”

What kind of question is that? David loves Matteo just the way he is, good days and bad days and more bad days. 

And still. If Matteo had taken his meds, he would be here right now. If David had made him take his meds, he would be here right now. When David closes his eyes he can hear Matteo’s mocking laugh. 

“French toast is ready!” Linn shouts from the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I made a bit too much.”

“Coming,” David mumbles, wiping his face. He opens the bathroom cabinet and pushes the package behind a half-empty bottle of Mia’s old facial tonic, where no one’ll ever find it. 

# 

# Thursday, 08:00

Matteo’s aunt’ll be here in half an hour and still David can’t make himself move. 

He sits on their unmade bed with its dirty sheets and stares at the wall. As Hans cleverly observed yesterday evening, that’s most of what he does at the moment. 

Three things have to be done. One, the ashtrays have to go. Two, the sweaters have to go. Three, David has to go.

He hides his face in his hands and groans. His head hurts too much for all of this. 

“David?” The door’s open, but Linn still knocks on the doorframe.. She’s so much more polite than Hans, who tends to trample into others’ rooms uninvited. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer. 

“Okay, stupid question. I’m not okay either. Sorry. Anything I can do?” 

It’s the first time David notices the dark shadows around Linn’s eyes, the harsh lines around her mouth. “Yeah. Make it stop.”

“Sorry, can’t help with that.” She’s leaning against the doorframe, all pale skin and oversized clothes, and produces something that looks like the ugly little sister of a smile. “But I could help you pack Matteo’s things. If you want to, that is.”

David wants to, so he nods. “I have no idea what to pack.” He doesn’t know what Matteo’s aunt might want. He can’t even remember her face although Hanna claimed they’ve met before, somewhere, sometime. He can’t remember how to function properly.

Linn drops to her knees and grabs an assortment of dirty socks. She throws them over her shoulder, making David seriously question how much help she’ll actually be. “Well, I’d give her something to satisfy her needs. Does Matteo keep a diary?”

“Why would I want to give her his _diary_?” The thought of handing over something so private – if it even existed – makes David’s stomach turn. 

“Well, you don’t want to read it because it’ll probably make you sad. And you can’t keep it because you’ll want to read it and that’s just not right. Just give it away.”

Linn logic at its best, David thinks. “I don’t think he keeps a diary. He isn’t a thirteen-year-old girl.” 

She shrugs off the half-covered insult. “Just give her his laptop instead. And that photo album with the baby pictures, he always hated those anyway. And the letter.”

“Not the letter,” David says. _Not yet, not now, not ever._

“Not the letter then,” Linn answers eventually. “I’m going to get some plastic bags.”  


# Friday, 18:00  


“What are they doing here?” David whispers.

“It’s Friday,” Hans whispers back and raises his hands in self-defence. They’re in the hallway, hiding from guests neither of them invited. Hans is still wearing his work clothes and looks deadly exhausted. “Pasta night. Shall I tell them to leave?”

David peeps into the tiny kitchen where Hanna and Linn are fussing over a gigantic pot of spaghetti. Jonas is cutting onions meticulously, Aneta and Stefan are currently arguing over whether red wine is necessary to make a good pasta sauce. It’s all weirdly domestic, given that he hasn’t seen most of these people in over two months. “Nope, it’s too late. They’re halfway done anyway.”

“Yeah, they’re here to stay,” says Hans. “Say hello while I change into something more comfortable, please. I’ll be with you soon.”

David inhales, holds his breath, and exhales. He rakes his hand through his hair. He’s not ready.

“Hi,” he says. All of them stop what they’re doing and turn around. David wants to hide in the cabinets just to get away from their sad smiles and consoling looks. “I’ve heard we’re making pasta?”

It all goes pretty well until they sit around the kitchen table in front of their steaming plates. The pasta is slightly overcooked and the sauce is too watery, but there are olives in it, and wine.

“Could you pass me the dried parsley, please?” Aneta asks. She’s red-haired and gorgeous. Even after a whole year David is still not sure whether he likes her or not.

“Luigi would murder you for putting that dried shit onto your noodles,” Jonas says. “We need basil.”

“Well, ‘Luigi’ isn’t here,” Aneta says, and that’s all it takes to make Hanna bawl into her pasta. 

Hans shifts uncomfortably in his seat while David doesn’t know what to say, what to do, what to scream.

“Not nice.” Linn passes the parsley to Aneta. “Too soon.”

There were times when Fridays were fun and easy, when Matteo took over the cooking and let the others mingle in the living room until he had miraculously produced the best pasta on earth, period. No matter how dull the week was, he was always ready for pasta night, his sacred tradition.

There haven’t been pasta nights for months and David is quite sure Matteo wouldn’t be a fan of this one. 

“I’m sorry.” Aneta’s eyes are shiny. “I’m so sorry. I – I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s been over a year, I thought–”

David looks at her, at her pretty face, and he hates her with a blistering rage that springs from the place where his heart once was. “You’re right, he isn’t here anymore.” It’s so quiet that the humming from the refrigerator is as loud as a raging waterfall. “Thanks for dinner,” he says, gets up and leaves the room. 

# 

# Saturday: 03:00  


It’s weird how hard it is to sleep when you’re more exhausted than you’ve ever been in your entire life. David thinks of calling Laura to tell her just that, but Laura is not the kind of person who’d be up in the middle of the night. He could call though to tell her about Friday evening, about that fucked-up pasta night that evoked so many memories he thought he’d hidden deep inside himself. She would be cranky at first, but she’d listen. She always does.

No. He can’t call Laura. Not again, not now. He’s done that too often lately. 

David rolls to the other side of this stupid bed that’s entirely too large for just one tiny person, and curls up into something that Matteo always called ‘The Burrito of Sadness’. His eyes sting.

Why can’t it be Abiball again? All those pretty colours, Matteo was so happy. Everyone was so happy. David would also settle for another road trip. Even if that creepy dude hit on them again trying to bribe them into a threesome with an egg baguette. Or that barbecue Sunday with Laura, when David introduced Matteo to his dad and his dad called Matteo ‘a fine young man’ when he thought Matteo wasn’t listening.

Matteo, Matteo, Matteo. He’s everywhere, in this room, in David’s thoughts, in every atom of his body, which is fucking unfair when you take into consideration that Matteo is irrevocably gone. 

Oh. There’s no way he’ll fall asleep after _that one_. 

Very quietly, David slips out of bed. He finds a sweater in the dark, and tiptoes out of his room and into the hallway.

“Where are you headed?”

David whips around, his heart hammering in his chest. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses.

Hans is right behind him, in his wine red paisley pajamas that scream gay with the force of a 200-watt megaphone. He tilts his head. “Couldn’t sleep?”

A nod is enough to make Hans come over and hug David. Hans gives the third best hugs of all the people David knows. He lets his chin rest on Hans’s bony shoulders and sighs. “I’m so tired. I can’t sleep. I can’t shut off my brain.”

“Same. Roof?”

“Roof.”

They climb the stairs in silence and sit down at the edge of the roof on the picnic blanket Linn donated for exactly that purpose. David leans back and stares at the sky. It’s dark and still you can’t see the stars. “Light pollution is a bitch.” 

“So is depression,” Hans answers.

David stares a little more. If he focuses really hard he might be able to see a shooting star, at least that’s what Matteo always said. Just as if he’d believed that bullshit himself. 

“I’m so mad at him,” he says. He’s scared by his own flat voice when all he wants to do is scream.

“I know, honey.” Hans’ fingers find his and squeeze them gently. 

“He’s such an idiot. You can’t go and see a drug dealer as a counsellor. You need real counselling, goddamnit, not some idiot and his pseudo-intellectual bullshit. And then he just checks out and leaves me behind –”

“We don’t know that. Borderline depression is a thing, it could’ve been an accident. Matteo wasn’t stupid, he used to experiment regularly, you know that. Maybe he just–”

David sat up, desperation strangling him. “He overdosed, Hans. Would you seriously call that a very intelligent decision?!” 

Oh. 

He’s crying.

“I’m crying,” he whimpers between sobs, and Hans is hugging him again under a starless sky. 

“David, it’s okay. Shhh.”

But it’s not.

David always hoped he was the cure for Matteo’s issues. But curing depression with love only works in cheesy Hollywood movies, and unfortunately their life wasn’t even close. 

They had their good times, in the beginning. They had their first kiss, and their first time, and the Abi, and the Abiball, and their road trip and good food and adventures and nice people and sex. And then they ran out of money and came home and started their lives after school and it was pretty good for a while, but then David wasn’t enough any more. 

No, that’s not true. It’s Matteo’s brain chemistry that was at fault, not David. Everyone told him that much for the last half of the year, ever since they buried Matteo next to his mom.  


# Saturday, 05:49

Hans crawls into David’s bed after he’s tucked David in, because that’s what Hans does, and David is too drowsy to protest. 

“Honey, can I be honest with you?” Hans snuggles into the pillow, his voice almost inaudible from behind David’s back. 

If he’s totally honest, all David wants is to be lied to. “Yeah. Sure.”

They’re silent for a while. It’s when David realizes something: when other people are around, Hans is always talking. With David, he’s surprisingly calm. And patient. 

“I know it’s hard to accept, but Matteo’s gone,” Hans says. Every syllable is like a knife twisting in David’s chest. “There, I said it.”

Of course he was there at the wake. He even prayed at church with his friends and Matteo’s family members although he swore never to set foot into a church again after what happened when he came out. And still, it was so hard to imagine Matteo in that mahogany coffin decorated with elaborate flower wreaths. How would he even fit in there? David fought the urge to jump up and scream at everyone to let Matteo out of his wooden prison. Matteo never liked tight spaces. 

David doesn’t say anything. 

Hans shifts behind David. His warm breath tickles David’s ears. “You know I’m not saying that to hurt you, don’t you? But it’s been so long and I –”

“I know.” David swallows. “He’s gone.”

“He’s dead.” 

“He’s dead.” Saying it out loud makes the truth swell up inside his mind, as large as an ocean. He’s shivering. “And he’s not coming back.”

“No, he’s not coming back, honey.” 

“I’ll never hold him again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’ll never know what that letter was all about. If he really wanted to go. I need to know.”

Hans sniffles behind David. David turns around and looks at him. It’s hard to see Hans’ round face in the almost-darkness of the room. Usually, he’s smiling. 

David raises a hand to wipe away Hans’ tears. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Hans closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “You did nothing wrong.”

Hans has always been there, ever since the beginning of the end. He made sure David showered and dressed and ate. He invited people over to fill the flat when it was in danger of becoming a shrine to Matteo. He saved David from drowning. He’s here even now, listening to David when he must be desperate himself. 

“For being a bad friend. For making you worry.” _For not realizing you were suffering too_. “Matteo was your friend as well.” David caresses Hans’ cheek, moves his hand to his hair and strokes it. “And you’re very sad, aren’t you?”

Hans nods quickly, tears streaming down his face. “Every day.”

This is all it takes for David to drag Hans closer and hug him, to hold him tight. Hans is crying with his whole body, shivering, fingers clutching in David’s shirt. 

Eventually, he stops.

“I never wanted to do that,” he says, his voice rough and wrecked.

“It’s fine.” 

They look at each other. David tries a smile. Hans smiles back, bright and almost-happy, typical for him. It’s kinda awkward. It’s nice.

Vader blares the Imperial March so loudly that both of them almost jump out of bed.

“Shitfuck, it’s six!” David groans.

Hans sits up in bed and stares at him in disbelief. “You’re still keeping that thing set? No wonder you’re always so tired!” 

With a glare in Hans’ direction, David kills the alarm clock. His heart is racing. The first rays of the sun make their way into Matteo’s room.

His room.

“You should get rid of it.” Hans tilts his head, his hair tousled. “Give it back to Matteo. He’s the only one who ever liked it anyway.”

Give it back to Matteo? But that would mean living the flat. Going to – 

To the cemetery. Where Matteo lies. Where David has never, ever visited him after the funeral. What a scary thought.

“I’d be there, you know,” Hans says. He takes David’s hand, unclenches David’s fingers. “I wouldn’t leave you there on your own.” 

It’s not just an empty promise, it’s the truth. He would stand behind David when he kneels down at the grave that surely has a headstone by now, not that ugly wooden cross from the day of the funeral. 

“Would I bury Vader or put him on the headstone?”

“I don’t know. Let’s find out when we’re there.” Hans grins. “I’m more for putting him out of his misery and then scattering the parts, but what do I know.”

Yeah, that might work. 

“I guess I could try to go,” David says.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know about you but during season 3 I got the feeling Matteo was not okay at all. Season 4 didn’t address that so I fixed it myself. (Sorry not sorry.)
> 
> Thanks to Oceanwhirl for creative input and breathtaken for editing. You both rock!


End file.
